Work Text:
“It’s fucking freezing ,” Dorothea says.
Ingrid glances back at her girlfriend; she feels great. Better than great, even, now that she’s back on the cold tundra that leads to home. Her horse seems to feel more alive, too, ears turned back in pleasure. Dorothea, on the other hand, tugs her cloak more tightly around her.
“I hope you’re not planning on cursing around my family,” says Ingrid casually, smiling back at her.
“Oh, hush,” says Dorothea, leaning over to take a scarf from her pack. “I have to let it all out now, Inga. I’ll be your perfectly proper lady when we meet your parents.”
“Hm.” Ingrid turns back to the front, squinting as she peers toward the setting sun. “You know, Dorothea, we could stop in the village for a night.”
“Could we now?”
The Galatea fortress looms on the horizon, and Ingrid knows they could, technically, make it before dark, but— “Of course,” Ingrid continues. “It’ll be nearly dark by the time we get there. It gets colder after sunset, and I know you’re not accustomed to it.”
“I’ll get accustomed to it,” Dorothea grumbles.
“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
“What can I say? I’ve never been a camping girl.”
“Is that why you didn’t kiss me until after the war had ended?”
“You’re cuter when you’re not covered in grime.”
“Ha, ha.” Ingrid pulls back on her reins so that she and Dorothea are side by side, giving her girlfriend a look. “Really, though. Would you like to stop?”
Dorothea sighs. She smiles. “If it’s not too much of a bother, another night to prepare doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Then we’ll stop,” decides Ingrid. “Really, Dorothea. You’re allowed to ask for a rest.”
Dorothea looks away. “Let’s just get to the village, shall we?”
Ingrid doesn’t push it, not while they’re on horses, traveling into the blinding sun. If the end of the war taught her anything, it’s that the one thing anyone can count on is time.
When they reach the outskirts of Galatea village, the square is more bustling than usual. Ingrid’s spent the last five years getting roughed up in the army, so it’s not a surprise to her when nobody seems to recognize her. Instead, the villagers look at them with a combination of curiosity and wary indifference at the arrival of perhaps two other mouths to feed.
“Oh,” says Dorothea, just loud enough for Ingrid to hear. “The children.”
Ingrid wants nothing more than to wrap Dorothea in a giant hug, to hide the world from her, to hide her from the world. She does just that once they reach the stables, helping Dorothea off her horse with a steady hand.
“It’s all right,” Ingrid says. “We’ll just deliver the food we brought now, instead of after you meet my parents.”
The sun is dipping below the horizon, sky tinged with pink and orange, when Ingrid gives the stablehand a sizable tip for unloading their packs from their horses.
“Do you want to go inside to rest first?” Ingrid asks.
Dorothea’s clearly freezing, but she shakes her head. “Let’s give the food out first, Inga. I— Well, you know.”
Ingrid does know. She’s heard the stories of Dorothea’s childhood, she’s felt the anger towards those who took advantage of her, she’s languished in the horror of what her love has been through. She’s vowed to always protect her, to make sure Dorothea never has to experience that kind of pain again, no matter what it takes. So she nods, and kisses Dorothea on the cheek. “Let’s go.”
They wander through the streets, snow starting to fall as they pass out food. There’s not enough, there’s never enough, but the relief on Dorothea’s face as the children look at loaves of bread and hunks of cheese makes everything worth it.
By the time their packs are cleared out, the snow is coming down thick and heavy, drifts already starting to pile up in front of buildings. Even Ingrid is starting to get chilly, so she knows Dorothea must be downright freezing.
“Let’s go back,” Ingrid says, and Dorothea nods, teeth chattering.
“O-Okay.”
Ingrid takes Dorothea’s gloved hand in hers, guiding her back to the small inn above the stables. She knows this town like the back of her hand, which is especially beneficial in storms such as this. She’s suddenly glad that they didn’t push forward to the castle tonight; who knows what may have happened if they’d gotten caught in the storm? Much better to wait until tomorrow, so long as they’re not snowed in.
The cheery fire in the inn causes Ingrid and Dorothea to immediately begin defrosting upon entering, and Ingrid is glad for it. Dorothea’s lips had started to take on a blue tinge in those last hundred yards, and the last thing she wants is for her girlfriend to get frostbite the night before something that’s worrying her.
Not that it’s not worrying Ingrid, that is. Her parents knew she was seeing someone, of course, but that someone being a woman? A commoner woman, no less? Ah, but she had to tell them sometime, didn’t she? Even if she had wanted to marry a noble man, she never had wanted children in her future.
“You’re thinking too hard,” says Dorothea, tapping Ingrid lightly on the nose. “Care to share?”
“I don’t want kids,” Ingrid blurts out her last thought before she can stop herself. “I really, really don’t.”
Dorothea blinks. “That’s fine,” she waves off the thought, voice breezy. “Can I have some money to get us a room?”
Ingrid looks up at her, brow creasing. “That’s fine?”
“Dearest Inga. All I need in this world is your hand in mine." Dorothea smiles. "And we really can talk more about it, but perhaps in our room?"
Right. Ingrid gives her head a shake, clearing her thoughts. "You're right."
They pay for a night, and set a fire as soon as they enter their room. Ingrid stands in front of the window, looking out into the storm.
"Inga," calls Dorothea from the bed.
"Mm."
"Your parents… do they know about me?"
Ingrid turns. Dorothea sits on the bed, knees pulled up to her chest.
Dorothea swallows, continuing, "I mean, do they know who I am? That I'm from the Empire? That I'm a commoner with no crest and no title?"
"I mean," says Ingrid. "Not really."
Dorothea sighs, falling back onto the bed. "Inga, I love you."
"I love you, too."
"If I'm not enough, you know I wouldn't mind. You could tell me, dear. Just tell me."
Ingrid frowns. Emotions have never been her strong suit, but is this truly what's been bothering Dorothea all day? "Dorothea," she says, voice serious. "You're more than enough. You're everything I've always wanted."
"You say that now, but tomorrow? You've told me stories about your father. How… persuasive he can be. I just, ah, well. You know what I mean, Inga."
It's rare that Dorothea's at a loss for words, so Ingrid knows she must be confessing something from the dredges of her heart. Ingrid crosses the room, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Dorothea.
"Dorothea," she says, and reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Look at me."
Dorothea looks up at her, eyes shining.
"You are enough," Ingrid says, emphasizing each word. "And I mean that. Nobody can convince me otherwise. War couldn't, so I'll be damned if my father tries to. Hell, we could turn around right now and go home if you really didn't want to go."
Dorothea smiles weakly. "Who's got the dirty mouth now?"
Ingrid rolls her eyes, swatting Dorothea on the arm. "Fine, we're both heathens. But really. It's going to be alright. If they try to treat you badly, I'll put them in their places. I swore I'd always protect you, didn't I?"
"The first night we kissed," Dorothea reminisces. "My gallant knight, my dear Inga."
"Exactly. You have absolutely nothing to worry about." Ingrid leans down, kissing Dorothea's forehead. "I promise."
Dorothea sighs, tugging Ingrid down to wrap her arms around her. "You're much too good to me."
"I'd give you the world if I had it."
"I don't need the world," Dorothea says. "I just need you."